


I Don't Know What It Is

by verucasalt123



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Discipline, Established Relationship, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-01
Updated: 2013-04-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 03:39:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/743774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verucasalt123/pseuds/verucasalt123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neither one of them liked it, but that didn't make it any less necessary.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Know What It Is

_Breathe_ , Sam told himself, in his mind. Just fucking breathe, calm down, maybe there was some way they could work this out, something else…

He was trying to bullshit his own brain. There was just nothing else he could do. He’d gotten himself into this mess. It was cold outside, so damn cold, and they’d been walking around all day, interviewing witnesses, checking out crime scenes. With other people, Sam had managed to keep his composure, but he knew he’d been snapping at Dean all day, rolling his eyes, making smart-ass comments. Because it was **cold** , and he hated cold, and he was irritated. All he wanted was to get back to their motel room and take a hot shower, turn the heat up to full blast. 

So he’d gotten what he wished for, in part.

They were, indeed, back in their nice toasty motel room. 

Instead of relaxing under a stream of hot water from the shower, though, he was stipped naked, standing in a corner and shivering even though he wasn’t cold anymore. 

Sam knew what was coming. It wasn’t like he didn’t deserve it, he wasn’t kidding himself there. And it wasn’t like Dean was going to let it go, give his baby brother a pass for acting like a spoiled brat all day because he forgot his gloves and his fingers were numb and it had made him grumpy and he’d shown a total lack of respect for Dean’s authority. 

Like many other aspects of their relationship, this one was well-established. When he behaved in that manner, he was going to be punished. Dean was nothing if not consistent, which Sam had always appreciated, in a way. He didn’t want to feel the leather against his skin, he didn’t want to cry and beg for Dean to stop, he didn’t want to break like that. 

But he did want that security. Knowing that _x_ behavior equaled _y_ consequence…it kept him focused, anchored, it made him feel safe. 

He also knew Dean didn’t like this. He didn’t gain any pleasure from punishing Sam. But it was a necessity. They hadn’t been back hunting together for all that long, and Sam still had that stubborn streak he’d developed around, oh, say, age three. 

Hunting again, without their dad, he needed to follow instructions. Dean was in charge here, there was no question about that. If Sam was distracted during a hunt, or didn’t do what Dean had told him to do, one or both of them could easily be killed at any time. And even when they were just doing legwork, like today, he was supposed to listen to his brother, not bitch and whine.

Trying not to shake too much while he stood staring at the wall, Sam figured he’d rather learn the lesson this way than learn it out in the field when one of their lives could be at stake.

For the first time in almost half an hour, Dean spoke.

“Turn around, Sam.”

On instinct, Sam started talking. “Dean, come on, please, I’m sorry, I mean it, don’t be mad, come on, please?”

“I’m not mad” Dean replied, his voice even and controlled. “I’m only doing what I have to do. Are you going to tell me you don’t deserve this punishment? Your ass didn’t legitimately earn some quality time with my belt today?”

Sam looked down and shook his head, “No, I – I can’t say that.”

“Fine, let’s just get this overwith, then. Over here, hands on the table.”

Without hesitating a moment, Sam did as he was told. He wasn’t about to take a chance of making things worse than they already were. So he just walked as calmly as he could over to the rickety wooden table and bent over, his forearms pressing against the surface and his head hanging down. 

He did deserve this, and he knew it. So he was going to take the consequences of his earlier behavior and this time, really, he’d do it without the usual distractions. Jumping out of position, instinctively covering his ass with one of his hands, squirming away and pleading for mercy.

And oh, how wrong he was about that.

“Sam, you know I don’t get off on this. You think I want to whip you and hurt you? You think I like it when I have to put you over my knee like you’re a little kid?”

“No, Dean. I know you don’t. I’m sorry.”

“Not as sorry as you’re going to be. And hold still, for chrissake, just this once, will you? I could hurt you if this belt lands in the wrong place.”

And oh, why did Sam have no fucking control over his mouth _at all_? “You’re going to hurt me anyway”, he replied, almost a whisper, but loud enough for Dean to hear. One sharp smack of Dean’s hand against the side of his right thigh was enough to shut him right the hell up.

“You know what I mean, Sammy. Yeah, it’s going to hurt, but I’m not going to _hurt_ you. Just doing what I have to do, giving you a reminder. I’m the big brother here, I call the shots, and I won’t have you making rude comments and acting like a child because your delicate skin has caught a little chill. So take it, because you know you’ve earned it, and don’t you **dare** get smartassy with me, kid.”

Sam let out a long breath and held still, unable to do anything but nod his head. 

Before he knew it, he felt the first sharp crack of the belt across the middle of his ass. He didn’t even get a chance to catch his breath to recover before the second blow fell, then the third, fourth, fifth, right on the exact same spot. Before Dean had gotten to ten, Sam was gripping the table for all he was worth and he could feel the tears welling in his eyes. The sting and pain were awful, but not as bad as the realization that he’d forced his brother to do this to him _again_.

Of course, in spite of his earlier promises to himself, before long he was crying out. “Dean, please – ahhh – come on, I – shit, ow, owwwww, fuck I’m sorry, I won’t – ugh – no, please, Dean, not there again…” Sam was a pathetic wreck of tears and snot and promises within minutes.

Hearing the sound of the leather hit the floor, he rested his forehead against the top of the table and just cried. 

“You’re all right, Sam, it’s done, you did good. You know the drill.”

And yeah, he did. Sam forced himself up and walked back to his corner, eyes on the carpet the whole time.

When Dean finally told him to go wash his face and get ready for bed, he automatically did as he was told. It was a nice surprise when he came out to see his older brother had pulled back his covers and was waiting to tuck him in to bed.

“You got anything you wanna say now?”

Sam swallowed against the lump in his throat and managed to get out, “Sorry, Dean. I mean it. I’ll be good.”

Exhaustion claimed him quickly, but not before he heard Dean’s whispered reply. “Please be good for me, Sammy.”


End file.
